


Lost Lady of Valencia

by nightfever



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gwen Knows About Merlin's Magic, Time Travel, canon divergent from season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfever/pseuds/nightfever
Summary: Individually, a break up, sleep deprivation and a mini mental breakdown are  unideal conditions to cast spells - but together? Yikes.A simple hair growth spell gone wrong sends London back in time to a land of myth and magic and into the collective arms of Camelots' finest.
Relationships: Leon (Merlin)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Take Care

Music filled the quiet, just loud enough that focus was needed to distinguish words from one another as London sifted through her books for a remedy for her stupidness. The worst time to make important decisions was during a breakdown - as minute or grand the moment may seem. London had found herself with scissors in one hand and a handful of hair in her bathroom at almost four in the morning, the result: lopsidedbangs and instant regret.

Now, the sun had begun to rise as she searched for a way to fix her hair. Frustrated by a lack of answers and her meagre three hours of sleep the night before, London found herself creeping into her roommate’s room to scan her bookshelf for any help - she knew she sold handmade candies that promised smoothed complexions, increased height, and blue, green or grey eyes. 

The first spell that made sense to her exhausted brain, one to rewind someone’s body clock, fell from London’s lips. Tilting her head back and closing her eyes, a prayer left her lips as she pressed a cold hand to her forehead, feeling the silk of her sleeve brush against skin. Distracted, she wondered how long silk had been around, perhaps the fourteenth century, she wondered, her mind briefly drifting from her hairy mistake.

At somepoint, she was aware the book had slipped from her fingers, but her eyes remained closed as she allowed her mind to rest, expecting nothing but the low hum of _Tame Impala_ and the occasional sound of passing traffic, and instead hearing nothing more than birdsong. Soft earth and damp leaves filled her nose as London gave a low groan and tipped her chin forward, cracking her eyes open with the intent of retreating to the warmth of her bed and instead finding a blue-grey sky blotted with leaves.

It may have been the lack of sleep or heartbreak that clouded her thoughts, but instead of bewilderment or fear at her unknown surrounding and the bite of cold against her skin, London was only slightly confused. She hadn’t even taken a step when a voice called somewhere above head height for her to stop.

Her eyes strained as she tried to make sense of the figure approaching her on horseback, though she wasn’t dreaming when a blond in chainmail took shape.

Or perhaps she was.

London wasn’t convinced, her task of separating dream from reality made more difficult by her body knowing early hours were sleepy hours and trying to shut down. She squinted in the limited light at the rider, giving another squint that crinkled her nose as more men on horseback appeared. Momentarily, she wanted to throw up as she recognised the dull ache of a migraine. She realised the man was talking, and felt rude.

“My lady?” London gave a lost look to his curly haired blond who got off his horse, “What are you doing in these woods?”

Her mouth and throat felt parched as she tried to force words from her mouth, “Where?”

“Do you know where you are?” the original blond had returned with his questions (not that he had ever left, just that once he left her attention, full attention had been diverted to his curly bro).

London’s brows drew together as she tried to sift through his words to find his question, giving a ‘ _huh?_ ’ in hope the stranger repeated himself,

“My lady, you’re clearly confused - allow us to help you,”

“I’m not - just confused.” Her attempts to wave away concern only earned more worried looks; the blond got off his horse and approached her,

“I’m Prince Arthur - I and my knights are returning to Camelot. Allow us to take you to our court physician.”

London lingered on the word physician, clearly thinking as she wondered why they were taking her to a physics teacher, then, as she said ‘ _doctor_ ’ as the only rider not wearing a cape said ‘ _healer_ ’. 

“Have some water,” Prince Arthur handed London a waterskin, which she had possibly only ever seen once in a museum somewhere and responded how anyone would: she shook the waterskin with vacancy and mild interest in her eyes.

Arthur (the prince) took his water bottle back with a look London couldn’t be bothered to linger on. She felt floaty, knowing in her many years of all-nighters and sleep deprivation it was sleepy bye bye time

With a polite arm around her waist and a guiding hand, Arthur (who didn’t really look like a prince, but most royalty didn’t look like it, at least in London’s experience) led her to his curly haired bro and lifted her, with some help from the bro in question, onto his horse. The two passed a look between themselves as they realised she was barefoot, which she seemed to notice herself as she pulled a face at her muddied feet.

London tensed in the saddle when she and the mystery man behind her began to move, startled further when he spoke in her ear,

“My lady?”  
“Yeah?” 

“Can you move? Just so we’re both comfortable?”

This took a moment of thought for London, who was wondering how she could move without crushing the dick of the guy nice enough to share his horse. She was also wondering _why_ he was riding a horse, and why she had allowed herself to go with them. Briefly, she lingered on the thought she may be brutally murdered, though she had enough sense to recognise that if they wanted to, they could have already.

“Where are we going?” London felt bad the first coherent words she had said to these guys hadn’t been ‘ _thank you for rescuing me from this random forest_ ’,

“We’re going to Camelot, my lady.”

London herself wondered why that information hadn’t been processed, since the name held an inkling of familiarity.  
  


As they travelled, London fought off sleep, blinking it out of her eyes and shaking it from her head. It didn’t help the body behind her was radiating warmth - nor that at some point, he had gathered his cape around her. More than once she found herself leaning into his chest, and at least once her head had lolled against his shoulder, which he didn’t seem to mind or was simply too polite to comment.

Clearing her throat, London briefly wondered why reenactors were so far in the woods, but brushed the thought aside and asked the man his name,

“I’m Sir Leon, my lady,”

“Like lion?”

“Pardon?”

“I don’t remember which language it is but ‘leon’ is lion, like the animal.” London guessed the language was Latin, but knew she was probably wrong.

“And you, my lady? What is your name?”  
At that moment, they broke the treeline and a castle, white stone brilliant in the morning sun, had stolen London’s attention.

She had never seen anything like it, the only exception being movies and shows, perhaps the odd fantasy game, but never with her own eyes. Leon didn’t ask her again, instead allowing her to take in everything. As they rode through the city gates, an actual portcullis, London didn’t question the sights of depravity below her; eyes watching with absent minded intensity as they passed animal pens outside homes, a tavern with a hand painted sign, and men in chainmail and helmets that greeted the group as they returned.

Entering a large courtyard, they stopped near a set of stairs leading into the castle. Leon dismounted, taking his warmth and cape with him, then helped London down, who swayed slightly as she shuffled away from his horse.

Her head swam as she leaned forward to wipe the grime from her feet with her hands, almost missing Arthur’s words as he directed his dark haired friend (the only one not wearing their signature capes) to take her to Gaius - what Gaius was, London was unsure; perhaps what they called a room in the castle, or a person.

“I’m Merlin,” he gave a reassuring smile as he gestured for London to follow him, “Gaius is the court’s physician, he should be able to help.”

London nodded, listening but not really as they entered the castle, eyes immediately drawn up to admire the architecture. The duo received odd looks as they walked through the halls, assumingly due to their slow pace, though most likely as London looked at everything as if she had never seen anything like it. By the time they reached Gaius’ chambers, word had spread through the castle of the lost woman in the forest, which was warrant enough to stare.

“Gaius!”

A white haired, older man rose his head from the book in his hands,

“Who’s this, Merlin? And how was the tournament?” Gaius spoke as he looked, a loving grandfather.

“Arthur won most challenges,” Merlin answered, leading London to sit on a small Ikea-reminiscent bed,  
“To be expected,”

“On our way back, we found her in the forest.”

“My lady?” Gaius watched as the woman looked around his quarters with passive interest, lingering on his tabletop collection of potions and bottles. He came to stand in front of her, “My lady, do you know where you are?”

He could see her thinking, “Uh, Camelot?”

“Do you know what you were doing in the forest?”

London had spied at least two magical items, and in her tired state didn’t linger on the thought he had bought them for aesthetic reasons, or educational and not for function. “I did a spell to grow my hair back - I think it went wrong,”

The elder sounded admonished as he repeated the woman’s words, Merlin loudly echoing his mentor with ‘ _you do magic?_ ’

Gaius gave a resigned sigh, “What was the spell?” 

London looked at her hands with a confused look, recalling the moment at her roomate’s bookshelf after she had cast the spell when she had realised the book had slipped from her grasp.

“Do you have something I could write with?” London asked, standing and immediately hit by a wave of dizziness, which she waited to pass and explained her lack of sleep;

“I’ve been awake all night, and I only got three hours sleep the night before. It’s probably why the spell went so wrong - I was barely able to think, I have no idea how I read it.”  
The quill in her hand felt unfamiliar and she pushed away the thought of writing on skin, focusing instead on writing the spell and its possible variants. 

Despite feeling significantly more awake, London still didn’t trust herself to say the spell aloud instead focusing on how the words felt on her lips.

“Why didn’t you talk on the ride back?”

“I haven’t slept,” London repeated, pausing to look over her written work, “I didn’t mean to be rude, but if I did speak it’s not like it would’ve made much sense anyway.”

“You _were_ acting a little,” Merlin tried to find the right word to say without offending the woman,  
“Strange? Part exhaustion, mostly genuine disorientation.” London stood, the spell still on her mind as she wandered to the large windows, “I don’t know where I am,”  
“You’re in Camelot, my lady,” Gaius’ brows drew in concerned,

“But where _is_ Camelot? How far is it from London?”

Merlin had his now familiar look of confusion, “Londinium?”

“The Thames, Big Ben, big red buses, the London Eye?”

Gaius and Merlin exchanged perturbed glances, Gaius pulling a scroll from one of his bookshelves and gesturing for London to join him.

London huffed a laugh, “I don’t think I know what England looks like anyway.”  
Looking at the map, however, it was unfamiliar, more so than it should have been. Behind her, Merlin and Gaius were speaking quietly.  
“I fear the effect of the spell she cast - look, _earfoþþrág_ , a time of tribulation, and _cnihtgeoguþ_ , youth.”

Gaius cleared his throat, “My lady, how experienced are you with magic of the Old Religion?”

“Kind of? My family aren’t English, so I used my cultural magic but it’s part of what I’m studying,”

“I just worry you cast your spell improperly,”

London laughed, “I definitely cast my spell wrong. I’m more worried about getting home - I’m not somewhere I’m supposed to be,” her laugh was mocking of her own abilities and held a hilt of fear, “How am I supposed to survive?”

Gaius looked contemplative,

“We can say that you lost your memory?” Merlin suggested,

“That may work - you’ve lost your memory and you’re staying in the castle so I can keep an eye on you until you recover.”

“And you know nothing of Camelot?”

London gave Merlin a shrug, “I didn’t think it existed,”

“So you know nothing of our customs? That may be a problem, Gaius,”

“Magic is outlawed, my lady. If you’re a known practitioner, or even assumed, you’ll be executed,”

“That’s not fun,”

“Indeed.”

Gaius didn’t know how to feel about the woman; she was clearly young, possibly scared though she hid it well and definitely fatigued, with purple bags under her eyes and an almost absent look.

At her request, Merlin brought London a hand bath, which she was thankful for since she hadn’t taken her makeup off the night before (instead she had gotten a little too drunk and had a mini breakdown once she had sobered up). Tying her hair back, she rinsed her makeup and her stresses from the last night from her face.  
“What _is_ your name?” Merlin asked, handing over a linen towel,

“London. Like the city,” she patted her face dry. She somehow looked younger and exhausted. It was probably because she looked super pale.

“ _London_ ,” Gaius said her name like he had never said anything like it (which he obviously hadn’t), “We’ll find a way to get you home.”

London gave a smile and opened her mouth to thank them when the door opened and Leon entered,

“Gaius, the king wishes to speak with you,”

“Of course, Leon, I’ll be right over,”

“It’s about our - guest.”

The knight looked to the girl in question, who gave an embarrassed smile and averted her eyes. Realising her hair was tied haphazardly, London fixed and fluffed her hair as Leon, Merlin and Gaius gathered to speak quietly. Figuring she still had a moment or two, she also wiped the grime off her feet with the linen towel she had used earlier.

Gaius broke from the trio and joined London by his workbench, “The king wishes to meet with you,”

London lowered her voice and tried to keep her expression neutral, “Is that bad?”

“He just wishes to know more of your circumstances, my dear.”

Together, they walked to Uther’s council chambers, stone cold under London’s feet as she tried to pull her thoughts into cohesion,

“Leon?” He turned to meet London’s eyes, “Thank you for bringing me back and I apologise if I offended you in my earlier state,”

His smile was gracious, “You did nothing to offend, my lady.”  
They came to a set of double doors with guards either side and paused momentarily, Merlin and Gaius passing looks between themselves as the guards opened the double doors to reveal a second set of doors. Merlin opened both doors outwards into a hall, one wall taken up with shields and hanging banners. Off to one side was a large table that took up most of the available space, though opposite the door, below a pair of stained glass windows on a slightly raised platform was an ornate wooden chair.

London assumed the man seated in this chair was of importance due to the simply decorated crown on his head. Leon knelt at the his feet,

“My king,” he stood, then bowed to Arthur, “Sire.”

He left the hall with a respectful nod of his head and a polite smile, closing the great doors behind him.

“My lady,” the king gives a small nod, “My knights say they found you in the forest, is that true?”  
“I believe so,” London tried to channel her ‘inner renaissance painting’,

He (the king, London had to remind herself) “What were you doing in the woods?”

“I’m not particularly sure,” briefly she wondered if she was supposed to say ‘my lord’,

“You’re not sure why you were in the woods?”

“My lord, she has no memory whatsoever,” Giaus said, joining London under the king’s gaze,

“No memory? How is that possible?”

“It’s entirely possible she had her memory erased with magic,” London couldn’t help the surprised face she pulled, catching Merlin’s smile to her right, beside Arthur (she knew his face, and she knew the name, though she wasn’t sure if that was his name).

The king was unlikely to have seen the exchange, considering he was scruitinising London with a look that suggested he knew her every sin, “And what could have caused this?” 

“Powerful magic, sire. I’m afraid she may need to stay in Camelot whilst I can try and find a remedy - she can act as my apprentice,”  
“Nonsense,” the king, whose name London still didn’t know, rose and clasped her hands, “It is clear you are of noble birth, my lady, you may stay in the guests’ chambers. I’ll have a servant get you settled in.”

“I greatly appreciate your generosity. If there’s anything I can do to be of help,” London gave a polite smile, then noticed Merlin curtseying exaggeratedly, and complied (albiet stiffly, and in improper form).

Merlin happened to be the servant to show London to her new room for the forseeable future. They walked in silence, Merlin leaving London to her thoughts as she lingered on the king’s offhand observation of her nobility.

While her great grandfather may have been someone important, she wasn’t; he and her grandmother had fled their home country from persecution, and her mum had moved for the betterment of her older (half) siblings.  
She didn’t particularly look ‘regal’, though London wasn’t sure what that was meant to look like; by modern standards (the ones she had just left behind), she probably looked like trouble with her multiple ear piercings, and her nose ring and - it might have been the golden rings in her ears and on her fingers, or the pearls at her throat and ears, or the velvet dress she wore.

“So what do we call you?” Merlin asked, closing the door behind him as they entered a large bedroom (it had a dining room, and a sleeping area through a wooden doorway that was clearly for aesthetism more so than room separation, plus a little alcove that would’ve looked amazing filled with big, leafy plants). London gave a thoughtful look as her eyes wandered the room as she stayed by the door,

“I need a name that isn’t too unusual.”

Merlin looked to be in thought as he fluffed pillows, “Euphemia?”

London wrinkled her nose,

“Lettice?”

London laughed, “No thanks,”

“Oh, you’re going to have to pick one - Christian?”

“Definitly no.” A pause, “I might need some ‘court behaviour’ lessons,”

“You really do - I’ll find Gwen and see if the bathhouse is available.” 

In the bathtub, London felt both pathetic and embarrased as Gwen scrubbed her skin. She was, in essence, an overgrown baby with no idea what was going on.

“Are you supposed to be cleaning me?” London had asked when Gwen had taken one of her arms to scrub clean,

“It’s a servants duty, my lady,” she had answered with a polite smile, though London couldn’t quite tell if it was a genuine smile or the smile of a service worker.

If Gwen noticed the yellow honeybear over the crook of London’s elbow, she didn’t mention it.

London poked through the small cupboards while she waited for Gwen to return with more dresses to try on - she had tried on a few, though they were all too small in one way or another, save for the linen underdress she was currently lounging in.

When Gwen returned, London had fallen asleep over the duvet.


	2. Orange you glad these weren't bananas?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Alternatively called - Bare Necessities)  
> London finds a use for all the weird knowledge she can never apply to tests or apparently real life and begins to make friends - unfortunately, one is a little too friendly despite his bad people skills.  
> And turns out nature isn't for city slickers.

It was mid afternoon when Gwen called for Gaius.

Herself, Gaius and Merlin were gathered around London’s sleeping form with shared looks of apprehension.

“She  _ did  _ say she hadn’t slept for days,” Merlin pointed out,

Gaius’ voice held doubt, “But to sleep for an entire day?”

With a low groan, London stretched out, then stilled and gave a sleepy hum. Bleary eyed, she lifted her head and gave a confused look at the trio:

“I overslept, didn’t I?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Gaius, “Almost fifteen hours!”

Gwen gave a placating smile, “We won’t be able to go over court behaviour until later,”

“‘M sorry to keep you waiting,” London stood and began fixing her sheets but she was batted away by Gwen and left to awkwardly stand in the middle of the room,

“Uther said he wishes to see you - come to my chambers once you’re dressed.”

Gaius left, leaving an awkward Merlin, “I’ll see you at dinner - Meggy?”   
London wrinkled her nose at him and earned a cheery laugh.

In Gaius’ chambers, London was looked over rudimentally while Gaius explained his findings and theories, namely that he may have found the original spell she had attempted to cast.

With a powerful brow, he suggested that she tried to make friends in court in the meantime.

“Sorry for keeping you from your - uh - duties?”

Gwen gave a shake of her head, “I’ve completed my duties for the day so I’m free to do as I please, at least until dinner,”

“Ah - are you a lady in waiting?” London figured there was no time like the present to learn about medieval England in a depth beyond Henry the eighth (whom she held a particular hatred for during her secondary school years).

“To the Lady Morgana, King Uther’s ward,” Gwen stopped at beginning of the corridor leading to the council chambers to bat London’s hands away from her hair,

“Ward? Like he’s looking after her?”

Gwen deflated, clasping her hands together in worry, “She lost her parents during the Great Purge - her father was a good friend of the king and so he took her in. She only recently returned to Camelot as she was captured by bandits,  _ for over a year _ ! And she fought in the battle - Oh, sorry - I’m,” Gwen gave an embarrassed laugh, “I’m rambling,”

“No, no, it’s fine,” London ignored the urge to sweep her up in a hug, “You’ve been worried about her, I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

Gwen gave a warm, watery smile, “I’ll wait for you in the courtyard. When you enter the council chamber what do you do?”

“I courtesy, rise, stare into his soul and greet him with either ‘your majesty’, ‘sire’, or ‘my lord’,” London received a good natured eyeroll and an order to cursey, which she did with some discomfort.

“You’ll get better with practice,” Gwen briefly wondered what lands didn’t know of basic etiquette, but refrained from saying anything. “Good luck.”

When the guards opened the council chamber doors, London wasn’t expecting a large cart of oranges and two Frenchmen.

The king ignored her, but she met Leon’s eyes and gave an inclination of her head, joining him after a moment of hesitation. He had excitement in his eyes and a smile as he leaned to speak quietly,

“The king is about to buy  _ oranges _ ! It’s fantastic.”

London gave a smile at his elation, remembering the privileges of the modern world and looking over with an emotion similar to pride at the cart, and finding disappointment. Some of the oranges were still green in some places and certainly not worth whatever riches they were being sold for.   
“My lady? What seems to be the matter?” Leon had lost his smile.   
“I think the merchants are selling you bad goods,” London looked between Leon and the tradesmen, then gave a nervous lick of her lips. “Bonjour - “

Uther and the traders, who had only briefly glanced her way when she entered turned to London,

“I believe you’re selling unworthy produce,”

“Unworthy? My lady, these are the finest oranges! From Valencia!” the moustached Frenchman announced, his counterpart looking between Uther and London,

“The Spanish sunshine grows beautiful oranges, my lady - would you care to try one?” He grabbed an orange from the top of the cart, slicing and offering a piece.

London gave the piece a dubious glance, peeling the rind and taking a bite.

“It tastes as it looks - unripe and bitter,” London didn’t miss the mixed looks of annoyance from the merchants, “Remind me,” London gave a small laugh for theatricality, “Because I’ve forgotten a few things recently, but how early into the year are we?”

Uther leaned forward in his seat, “It’s late March, my lady,”   
“And are these  _ navalinas  _ or  _ orograndes _ ?”

The non moustached trader looked slightly unnerved, “ _ Orograndes _ , my lady,”

“I thought these were oranges?” London halted her finger felt peruse through the cart, “Because orogrande are mandarins - finger fruit,” She had found a softer orange and began peeling.

“Our mistake, my lady,” his associate said with a forced polite smile, “They are navalinas,”   
“I thought the harvest ended in December? So why are some green? I thought oranges were meant to reminisce of the sun? Taste like gold? Sire,” London turned her attention to the smiling Uther, “I would suggest you pay half of the asking price and instead cook with whatever is inedible.”

London shared her orange with Leon as Uther spoke with the traders (only threatening to throw them in the dungeons once) and found herself enlightened as she watched him eat - this was, after all, his first ever orange. She had found the pleasure that washed away his apprehension adorable if not endearing and found herself trying to bite back her own beaming smile.

At Uther’s request, London began separating the oranges into what she thought were ‘bad’ and ‘better’ piles and as she worked, she overheard the two traders:  
“ _Whore! Who is she to tell him to pay less_ _\- what does she know of oranges?_ ” apparently the Frenchman carried spite in his moustache.

His partner, however appeared to be the smarter of the two, “ _ If we can leave this town, we can move on and make our losses _ ,”

“ _ We wouldn’t have any losses if she kept her bitch mouth shut _ .”

Had she been a better person, London thought she probably wouldn’t have said anything. But alas, she wasn’t.

“ _ If you didn’t try to sell bad fruit, you wouldn’t have any losses _ ,”

The non-moustached trader placed a placating hand on his friend’s arm but it didn’t stop him calling London a Spanish cow.

London gave a nonchalant shrug, “ _ I speak four languages - sorry if I’m a little out of practice _ .”

When the traders left with a third of the gold they were expecting, Uther smiled at London, earning a curtsey. “My lady, I take it you have regained your memories? What would I have the honor of calling you?”

“Unfortunately, sire, I still haven’t recovered my memories, though I now believe I may be an orange enthusiast, and French - or at least partly.”

“My late wife was French,” Uther held a far distant look of sadness in his eyes, and was somewhat surprised to find a similar look upon the face of the young woman before him. “The language, however, is beautiful.” He gave a tight, uncomfortable smile.

Leon still held a piece of orange in his hand. “But if you don’t know your name, my lady, what are we to call you?”

“That is something I’m still trying to find the answer to,” London chuckled.

“And what has Gaius said?” Uther asked, gesturing to the pile of oranges,

“He says he thinks it may take some time for my memory to recover,” London answered, peeling an orange to hand to the king, “So in the meantime I may need to assume another name.”

Uther stared at the orange halves in his hand, “ _ Lady Valencia _ ,” 

“A fitting name, my lady,” Leon smiled, eyes crinkling and for a moment, he looked proud.

Uther leaned over the side of his throne and grabbed his sword, leaving it in its scabbard and knighting London with a smile, “Rise, Lady Valencia of Camelot.”

Uther asked for Leon to arrange for a ride the following morning to where Valencia had been found to see if it would help gather her memories.

Leaving the council chamber with Leon, Valencia felt like the sunshine warming her skin.

“The king appears to like you greatly,” Leon mentioned casually,

“That’s good, right?”

Leon said it was, returning Valencia’s smile, tying together thoughts of oranges, and sunshine, and gold and happiness.

“How was your orange?”

“It - it - it was -” Leon stopped and took a deep breath to try and pull together a sentence. “Magnificent. Like golden vessels of the sun.”   
In the beam of a smile he received, warm and rich, he wondered how the linger of orange on his lips would compare to her mouth.

“My lady,” Gwen had seen the pair stop in the corridors and felt a tinge of guilt pulling them apart but they had already missed the morning and were in dire need of going over court etiquette considering how stiff and unfamiliar London’s movements appeared.   
Leon held a proud smile, “Gwen, my lady, we have news! Our fair lady has been knighted,” Gwen looked playful, “Knighted?”

“ _ Lady Valencia _ ,” Accompanied with a deep curtsey and a beaming smile. “I’m afraid my lord, that I must leave your company.” She gave Leon another smile and curtsey and linked arms with Gwen to leave.

If she was a colour, Valencia would’ve been somewhere between yellow and orange - her hands still smelled like citrus, the sunlight danced along her skin. London would have been the cerulean blue of the sky, her favourite colour.   
She caught Gwen’s look of curiosity in the corner of her eye and broke into another smile that drew a few interested glances. 

* * *

  
  
  


At dinner that evening, Uther had invited Valencia to sit between himself and Morgana. Of course, she accepted, though as she flashed terrified eyes and a wobbly smile at a surprised Leon as she sat. Behind Morgana’s shoulder, Gwen gave Merlin a look and Valencia took an urgent sip of her goblet - and gagged.   
On both sides, she received worried looks.

“I don’t think I like wine,” she excused, staring into the goblet with dubiation,

Morgana gave a charming laugh, “I think you’re the first to say it, Lady Valencia.”

To her right, Uther called for a servant to bring a fruity wine, which Valencia tried to insist was unnecessary, which was ignored as ‘ _ what is a meal without an accompanying drink? _ ’ and ‘ _ please, as long as you’re in Camelot, you shall enjoy every meal as they are supposed to be taken _ ’. Ignoring her discomfort, Valencia gave what she hoped was a gracious smile and thanked Uther for his kindness, watching as Gwen placed a new goblet before her and poured from a second jug.

All eyes seemed to be on Valencia as she took a sip of the new wine, waiting on her reaction and were met with another grimace. Now, Valencia had previously worked in a restaurant and vaguely knew her wines (though only three types of reds and didn’t know what the opposite of ‘dry’ was) but couldn’t exactly mention her years in hospitality for casual conversation, nor her preference for cocktails as she waited for a new wine to sample.

“Please, my lord, I would only like to enjoy a meal with yourself and the lovely Lady Morgana,” Valencia hadn’t enjoyed the third wine brought to her and was trying to refrain from pleading with Uther to stop bringing more wines for her to try, any straight spirit would’ve been preferred by now. “I understand the Lady Morgana’s birthday is near - any planned festivities?”   
For a while, decorations and the feast consumed talk, at least until the servant returned with a goblet of wine for Valencia to try, when silence and eyes fell to Uther’s side.

This time, it was quiet enough to hear the groan as Valencia physically shuddered.

“I think I prefer the last,” she said after a moment, meeting Leon’s eyes and biting back a smile. When the servant tried to take the goblet away, she tried to wave him away despite Uther’s insistence. To Morgana, she hoped he took his time -- “I wish to speak with you more, afterall, you are the fairest woman of the court.”

While she may have been a flirt on a regular basis, Valencia was tipsy, freshly single and feeling warm. By her fourth goblet, Valencia had given up on expressing her dislike and just drank since they all tasted the same anyway, though Uther still brought new wines for her to try and on the ninth, she had turned to Morgana and offering her glass, asked what she thought of the wine.

“It’s delicious, my lady, I’m surprised you don’t like it,”

Valencia swilled her goblet and pulled her eyes to meet Morgana’s, “I don’t think wine is my drink of choice,”

“Nonsense, everyone likes wine.” 

Valencia didn’t bother replying to Uther, instead focusing on trying to eat her roast potatoes politely. Nothing she had gone over with Gwen in the hour before dinner would have prepared her for any part of the evening, let alone how badly it went.

When dinner had ended, Valencia had long since sobered and found Arthur at her side.

He greeted her with a charming smile and a polite bow. “My father has grown fond of you in the short time of your stay,”

“You aren’t the first to mention,” Valencia took his elbow and hoped her smile hid the slight crawl across her skin at what she hoped he wasn’t implying. Arthur gave an interested hum,

“My father is a good man and hasn’t had the best of luck in recent years. I only wish to know your intentions.”

It was like her roommate had said before: old men were like an entirely separate species.

“My intention with your father is to be a gracious guest of his court - nothing more,”

“Nothing more?”

The pair had stopped in the corridor to look at one another. Arthur gave a cool, serious look,

“Your father is nothing more than a kind man and a welcoming host. I don’t want to pursue a further relationship,” Valencia gave what she hoped was an equally cool, serious look.   
Surprisingly, Arthur smiled and extended his elbow:   
“I assume your chambers are near Gaius’?”

“You assume correctly, sir knight,” Valencia rewarded him with what she hoped was humour as she took his elbow.

  
  
  


In the morning, Valencia was surprisingly awake as she stepped down the Citadel stairs, briefly wondering exactly why they didn’t just call it the castle as she set eyes on Arthur, Merlin and Leon. Behind them, some knights stood while others were on horseback and were intimidatingly tall, though Valencia rationalised her discomfort as her unfamiliarity and general distrust of horses.

“Good morning, my lady, I hope you slept well,” Leon gave an amiable nod of his head and finished their conversation, giving only just enough time for Valencia to whisper to Merlin that she had never been so close to a horse before - he, of course, found it funny and had to bite back a laugh as Arthur returned his focus to them.

“What’s so funny, Merlin?”   
Valencia found herself annoyed at Arthur’s tone; “My amazement of the servants, my lord.” She flashed him a polite smile and asked Merlin to help her to her horse, though try as he might Arthur found yet another way to be kind yet mildly irritating and took Valencia’s hand. With a confidence she didn’t know she possessed, she hooked her left foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up, confused to why the view wasn’t expected.

Valencia gave a surprised squeeze of her thighs and beneath her, the horse began to trot forward. She glared at Merlin as he laughed, clenching her thighs in surprise as the horse neighed and began to trot faster. Again, she squeezed her thighs until the horse began to canter and Arthur had to chase to grab hold of the reins.

This time, she didn’t mind Arthur’s tone when he shouted for Merlin or offered his hand. Merlin still looked giddy as he took the reins from Arthur to take the horse away and a true testament to her age, Valencia pulled a face at him as he passed; Arthur didn’t acknowledge the face, considerately suggesting Valencia rode with him until she could refamiliarise herself with riding.

“So, my lady,” Arthur’s voice in her ear startled Valencia just enough she bumped her head into his nose, earning cursing and a further embarrassment. She saw Leon’s quickly hidden smile as she gave a panicked look around for Merlin:

“My lord, are you alright?”

At least Merlin found this entertaining,

“I’m fine, Merlin, just wasn’t expecting it.”

Valencia felt chargain and the loss of warmth as Arther leaned away,

“My lord, you were saying something?” Alymere, one of the knights accompanying them, asked. A real bro.

“I was  _ saying _ , my lady, if you can’t ride a horse and you can’t curtsey, what can you do?”

Valencia gave a laugh, “I’ll headbutt you again, Arthur,”

“Is that a threat?” he had humour in his voice as he poked his head around her shoulder.

“It certainly is.”   
“She can speak French,” Leon also appeared to be on her side - perhaps she had won the hearts of the people,   
“You can speak  _ French _ ?” Or perhaps they simply found Arthur entertaining.

“ _ Oui, mon prince, es tu non écouter _ ?”

Someone behind them laughed, then called out a reply, “ _ Believe me, he was worse _ ,”

“I doubt that!”

  
  


After some time, they halted.

“Recognise anything, my lady?” Arthur asked, dismounting and offering a hand,

“I wasn’t exactly coherent, my lord.” Valencia wobbled slightly, legs numb from sitting for so long and wondered how Arthur appeared fine.

Arthur gave a bewildered, lost puppy look, “I’m not sure I follow,”   
“Gaius suspects she hadn’t slept for a number of days, sire,” Merlin answered as Valencia rolled her ankles, grasping Arthur’s forearm rather than nearing a hand to the horse.

“Still, let's hope you recognise something,” Arthur said and Valencia felt a stab of guilt.

Merlin came to stand by her side as she looked around, eyes moving from floor to canopy.

Her voice was low and filled with wonder, “I’ve never been in a forest before,”

“Never?” Merlin earned a slight head shake, following Valencia as she carefully stepped through underbrush,

“There aren’t any near me. Imagine standing atop a tower in the Citadel and as far as the eye can see - Camelot. I’m lucky there’s any greenspace at all.”

She looked at a flowering gorse shrub with an interest Merlin hadn’t seen before and for a moment, Merlin felt saddened.   
His determination was almost comical as he rooted through the bush for a flower with a particularly long stem, earning Arthur’s indignant ‘ _ Merlin, what  _ are _ you doing? _ ’ and a number of eyes as Merlin tucked the longest stemmed flower behind Valencia’s ear and gave a smile like sun over water.

If Arthur wanted to call Merlin a girl’s petticoat, the undisputed glee that lit up Valencia’s face as his manservant presented the bright yellow flower knocked the insult off his tongue.

She didn’t exactly know what the etiquette for receiving flowers was, but she hoped Merlin knew from her shy head bob that she was grateful (though it was a given, considering she caught herself  _ beaming  _ from time to time).

With the sprig of gorse behind her ear, Valencia reminded Merlin of new growth and spring itself, and perhaps, Merlin mused, Uther had been apt by naming her so fruitfully.

“Alright,  _ Merlin _ ,” Arthur said after they stood by each other for a few silent respective moments, something in the way he stressed Merlin’s name made Valencia’s skin prickle (at heart she was still a shitty London inner city school girl who stood up against asshole teachers) and she didn’t think twice before tilting her chin and looking the crown prince in the eye.

“If I were unaware, I would’ve thought Merlin was prince on account of his manners.” Somewhere behind Arthur, someone covered a laugh and Arthur masked a scowl. Valencia offered a smile, “Perhaps it’s unwise to belittle those who handle your food?”

For a while, they fan out and look for anything of interest, and mostly it's just interesting leaves that Valencia absently collects just for something to do until she strops back to the horses with tears in her eyes and the large flower responsible clenched tightly in her fist.

Valencia can’t imagine how pathetic she looks, nor how stupid as Sir Leon turns and catches sight of her blistered hands. Of course, he’s talking to Arthur, who also turns and grimaces at the sight of the welts.   
“Gods, what did you do?” He turned her hands in his with a surprising delicacy, like she hadn’t roasted the shit out of him in front of his boys like twenty minutes ago.   
“I wanted to bring Gaius a pretty flower.” Considering her hands didn’t look like hers and the pain made her hyper aware of her own fragility, the reason seemed to fall short of a reasonable excuse.

Arthur held her hands and gave them a look of ‘what the fuck’ with a slight hint of concern before turning and calling for Merlin, who dutifully scurried over, trailed by a number of knights.

As Gaius’ apprentice, he gave a quick medical eye and loudly pronounced: “Valencia,  _ how _ ?” the passed his eye from the sores on her hands to look at the large flower clenched in her left hand and gave a full body sigh.

“Hogweed. You’re a fool, you know,” Merlin said, taking and pulling on one of Arthur’s riding gloves to gently pry the plant from her locked grip. Valencia tipped her head back to look into the sun to avoid spilling tears or making a sound as she wondered why this plant was in the English wilds.

By the time Merlin was done, half the blisters had become open sores and the warm drip of abscess fluid felt uncanny enough to inspire sonnets about nausea.

  
A few of the knights had meandered off, returning with small, brightly coloured flowers and giggled and grinned like schoolgirls as they tucked them into Valencia’s braids - if their goal was to distract her from the constant eye watering agony, they had certainly earned a smile that rivalled Merlin’s own happy-go-lucky grin.

Of course, the noisy trampling of underbrush and a sound eerily similar to the bear sample from  _ RDR2  _ broke the peace. Well, that and the scream of ‘ _ bear! _ ’.

Sir Kay was being chased by a two meter tall beast that if Valencia hadn’t known better, would’ve assumed belonged to its own ‘legendary’ category.

For a moment, she was frozen (because since when had there been bears in England?) but without thought - as most things - Valencia had grabbed Arthur’s sword from his side and near stumbled towards the animal to wave the weapon without regard to her spasming hand. She tightened her grip and drew upon every strain of false confidence she had to make herself seem as big as Leonardo DiCaprio couldn’t.

She hadn’t exactly seen the film, and it wasn’t like she planned to be anywhere with bears to memorise the  _ bear code of conduct  _ to know if she was looking scary for the right bear, but she had her back to the knights and enough adrenaline (or fear) coursing through every capillary that a spell had barely fell from her lips before the bear was staggering backwards.   
Valencia had spoken the spell to put enough distance between themselves and the bear that it would rather have left them alone than continue its failing assault when the knights had rushed forward.

As was to be expected that they killed the bear. Foreseen, even. But, Valencia had forgotten that she had left behind the times where the biggest threat were inner city foxes. Admittedly, she probably feared foxes a tad bit more than bears, considering the little shits were known to peruse London streets and take whatever they could get their swipers on.

  
  


“My lady,” Sir Geraint held up a bear cub and grinned, cooing at the mass of brown fur in his arms. “Would you like a bear cub?”

Valencia gave a tight, forced smile, and declined Geraint’s offer, turning to return Arthur his sword.   
“She was only protecting her cub.” Merlin looked almost as forlorn as the bear cub, which should’ve been nigh impossible considering the cub’s mother lay dead not twenty paces away.   
Leon merely looked curious instead of judgemental when he asked Valencia why she didn’t want the cub:

“Would you want to dance for those who condemned you to a life of loneliness?”   
Arthur doesn’t say anything, too busy looking broody and conflicted.

  
  


While they prepare to carry the carcass back to Camelot, Valencia stands beside Merlin and remembers why she went vegetarian.   
“There haven’t been bears for a thousand years,” she says eventually, watching the knights fell wood to construct a raft. “I tried to scare her away,”

“You almost exposed yourself,”

“I would think they’re fond enough of me they’d tell me to flee.” Valencia gives Merlin a sly smile, eyes golden in the sunlight, “Who’s to say it's not the sun?”

Merlin’s sure it's magic and knows she’s relieving her pain from the way her jaw unclenches and the tension leaves her body like fresh bread at a bakery (all at once, that is).

Sir Leon helps Valencia onto Merlin’s horse as Arthur orders the knights to leave the bear cub behind, and though they argue at first, they coo and comply as they leave.

Despite knowing there was nothing she could’ve done, Valencia can’t help but feel like the mother’s death was her fault. Once they start moving,  _ Bare Necessities _ is the only thought on her mind and the melody drifts from her lips.

Merlin doesn’t seem to mind unfamiliar tune, and if they hear it, they don’t mention it. By the time they see Camelot, he’s humming along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to 'Bare Necessities' on loop for like 2 hours while finishing this and while I love the song, my brain is kinda mushy, but that might've been the all nighter.  
> I always seem to take them before writing. Maybe it helps me get into Valencia's head?


	3. Camelot a circus, her knights the clowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's perpetually tired and dumb, and apparently finds trouble wherever she goes.

In Camelot, with hands wrapped with poultices, Valencia held her goblet of wine in both hands as she listened to the knights collective retelling of the afternoon.  
Uther looked amused and somewhat fond, eyes catching on the flowers in Valencia’s hair as Geraint reenacted the emergence of the bear (now to be a gift for Morgana). Valencia made a note to mention it to Merlin and briefly wondered if she could retire to avoid the king’s eyes.

“I see you like the wine, my lady,” Uther said to Valencia as Merlin refilled her goblet for the umpteenth time and earned a polite turn of her lips,

“Oh, I would prefer the bear, for sure.” She wasn’t sure if she was drinking one of the many wines sampled the previous night, but it was still harsh on her tongue and didn’t quite mask the taste of death. She didn’t mention she wanted a peaceful sleep, either.

Valencia caught Arthur as he was leaving and gave a smile she hoped belied her exhaustion.

“My lord,” she greeted, half curtseying and wishing she was falling into bed. For a few paces, they walked in silence, then they stumbled on each other's words as they began to speak.

Arthur gestured for Valencia to speak first.

“I hope I didn’t offend you earlier - in the woods. I only fear your pride to be hubris and I wouldn’t be envious of the consequences.” They regarded one another, and in the torchlight Arthur looked caught in thought before a lazy smile bloomed,

“You care not for yourself but for one you’ve only known briefly?”

“I know both myself and yourself briefly.”

Arthurr’s smile became a grin, “You have a point there, my lady. My knights and I greatly appreciate your actions today - we would like to repay our gratitudes -”

Valencia laughed, raising a bandaged hand to wave Arthur away, “Unnecessary,”

“I insist,”

“I insist that you don’t insist. Really, it’s fine.”  
Arthur gave a hum as he ignored her, “Perhaps something other than wine? It’s not exactly ladylike but maybe I could get my hands on some cognac?”

“Say no more.”

  
  


Valencia’s hands still stung when in the weeks leading up to Morgana’s birthday when she found herself on horseback in the courtyard.

Sir Leon, ever the cutie, had taken the time to take Valencia down to the stables to introduce her to the mare she would be riding. She wasn’t exactly who his soothing voice was for, but she liked how he spoke - she liked how he spoke in general, though while they alone in the stables, Valencia had to remind herself to focus.

Leon gave a small, proud smile as Valencia’s shoulders unfurled, posture improving as she gained confidence after the first lap around the courtyard, though he quickly tried to smother the affection with a stern look.  
He gave her the reins and walked alongside as they took another lap.   
It would have been strange how quickly Valencia got used to horse riding had Leon not assumed she had previous experience - he had taught a few squires how to ride and it took days, if not weeks for them to be able to grasp basic skills though by the end of the afternoon she was getting familiar with the movements.

Leon was perched on the steps and calling instructions, watching with pride as she spoke to the mare softly as she performed turns, increased pace and stopped.

“She’s getting on well,” Merlin noted, coming to stand by Leon’s side,

“She most likely has previous experience,” he agreed. “She’s a bit stiff in the saddle but nothing practice won’t remedy.”

Merlin caught Valencia’s eye and beamed, calling that she was doing great. He was as proud as Leon, if not more, considering he knew she was as unfamiliar with riding as she was with curseying.

After a few more days of burning through books, ignoring sleep and trying to be a pleasant member of court, Valencia wished Arthur good luck on his hunting expedition.

She had swept him up in a worried hug outside his chambers, completely misunderstanding the premise of what the hunt was for and earning a nervous laugh from Arthur.

He drew back, “My lady, what do you think we’re hunting?”

“A beast?” 

Arthur gave a refrained laugh, “We’re going on a hunt to celebrate Morgana’s birthday - you’re welcome to join us.”  
Valencia declined, citing her work with Gaius and not how she still thought of the bear and her abandoned cub. She wished them good luck and ducked down one of the servants passageways in hopes of glimpsing Merlin.

She ignored the odd looks, more concerned with finding her way and rebuffed an ‘ _are you lost, my lady_ ’ at least twice.

Valencia did get lost, however, after a number of turns that lead to unfamiliar corridors, only finding confusion. 

“My lady,” Valencia turned to meet Leon, “I haven’t seen you in these parts of the castle before - are you looking for someone?”

She gave a relieved laugh, “I’ve appeared to have gotten myself lost looking for Merlin,”

“How’d you manage that,” Leon asked, gesturing for Valencia to walk with him,  
“I went through the servants passages,”

“That would do it.” They walked quietly, mostly as Valencia was attempting to commit the architecture to memory. “Are you joining us on the hunt?”

“I’m still queasy over the bear,” Valencia said, forcing a laugh to coat her embarrassment. At Leon’s bemused look, she elaborated, “She had been disturbed, for one, and she had a cub to look after. She didn’t deserve to die for simply being a bear.”

“And if she attacked?”

“Then her death justified. She was retreating when you killed her,”

Leon respectfully stated that he hadn’t killed her, earning a disapproving glance and an airy mention of guilt by association.

“Most attacks are defensive. I believe I read somewhere that you’re more likely to be struck by lightning than be attacked by a bear.” Valencia didn’t mention this was in the compendium notes in _Red Dead Redemption_. She gestured for Leon to step through a doorway before her and received an offended look and an insistence, which she politely refused and earned a glare that made her laugh. Relenting, she held the door open for Leon as she passed and gave him a cheeky grin.

“You’re quite strange, my lady,” he said with a look tied between amusement and confusion.

Leon and Valencia paused in the doorway leading to the courtyard, not quite sure how to say their farewells - Leon was still lingering on the topics Valencia had mentioned and wanted to discuss them further.

“Perhaps bring me a token of your good luck, I’m in need of it,”

“A token?”

“Like a, uh - I’m not entirely sure,” Valencia admitted with an embarrassed laugh.

Leon smiled, suggesting a flower and earning both a chuckle and an endeared warning of flowers and thorns - or acid.

With a curtsey, Valencia wished Leon happy hunting and had passed through the foyer before remembering she had originally been looking for Merlin. Pausing, she gave a resigned sigh and continued on to Gaius’ chambers.

After all the hours sat on a bench reading, Valencia stumbled standing as someone threw open Gaius’ door and entered in a flurry of limbs and motion. She didn’t recognise the two knights, though she doubted she would fail in future of their grand entrance.

They called for Gaius, who they had only just missed, as they hobbled to the nearest available bed.

“Where’s Gaius?” the darker the two asked, looking wildly for the man in question,

“He went to see Geoffrey,” Valencia wrung her hands as she watched blood drip onto the floor.

The knight cursed, and Valencia, useless to help, ducked outside Gaius’ chambers to see if any guards were stationed nearby. She felt hot as she rushed to the windows, calling for a servant to bring Gaius - urgently. 

Pacing, the knight cursed at their lack of time - his companion had shot a crossbow bolt through his thigh and was losing blood at a tremendous pace. Valencia realised he had probably severed a major vein or artery and only had minutes to live.

Biting back her own fear, Valencia shoved up her sleeves and knelt beside the near unconscious knight. With a deep breath, she snapped the shaft and pulled it from his leg, and if his straining and shouting was anything to go by, he didn’t enjoy it.

“What are you doing?” the other knight looked offended and enraged and concerned as he watched his friend struggle, “You’re going to kill him!”

Valencia couldn’t think of a coherent response, instead remaining quiet as she focused on tying off the leg, hoping to lessen the blood flow to give her enough time to perform her small scale healing spell.

She could feel the warmth spreading through her fingers as magic ebbed into the wound, reconstituting vessels and sowing sinews. Ears buzzing, Valencia enounced each word as quickly and clearly as she could in hopes of stemming the bloodloss.

The door was thrown open and Valencia halted her spell, pulling her hands away from where they hovered over the knights leg. She couldn’t see through the blood but she knew the vein or artery had knitted together and some of the surrounding muscle.

“Sir Bor, what’s happened?”  
Valencia turned to meet Gaius’, eyes shifting to the servant who stood a few paces behind and offering a polite smile.

“Morien shot himself with his crossbow whilst dismounting - your assistant just removed the bolt,” Sir Bor answered, handing Valencia some bandages and a serious look.

“Gaius, could you boil some witch hazel? I need it to wash the wound.”

Gaius gave a disproving brow but did as she asked. Sir Bors stepped outside with the servant for a moment.

“Have you no regard for your safety, my lady? You’re _know_ what Uther will do to you,”

“He was bleeding out.”

“And you know that?”

“I have a basic understanding,” Valencia replied, sounding petulant to her own ears. She received another glowering look. “I studied biology in school. He cut through his femoral artery, I think it’s called, or vein. I just sped up the healing.”

Gaius sighed, “I’m just worried for you. What are you using to clean the wound?”  
Valencia looked at the bandages in her grasp and pulled a face. “Do you have a bucket?”

  
Sir Bors rentered, grim faced as Valencia was pulling blood from the bandages with her magic and depositing it into a bucket.

“My lady,” he began, clasping his gloves, “You should be weary of practicing magic in the castle - if Uther finds out, he’ll sentence you to death.”

“Did the servant see anything?” Valencia asked, skin prickling with something between dread and apprehension,

“Not if he wants to keep his life.”

Valencia swallowed.

The royal hunting party returned the next day at noon, the prince sporting a glow and a large deer. The deer might have been normal sized, but Valencia didn’t exactly have a frame of reference.

“Your trip went well, I assume?” Valencia greeted Arthur, petting his horse with only minor confusion (they weren’t exactly cats),

“It would’ve been better, my lady, had _Mer_ lin not scared away a herd of deer.” Pointedly, Arthur glared at Merlin and received an eyeroll,

“I tripped, you could hardly blame me for it.”

“Lady Valencia,” Leon bowed, then presented a bunch of flowers, “Non-poisonous, I assure.”

Valencia gave a look of surprise and broke into a wide, beaming smile, fighting the urge to sweep Leon up in a massive hug.

“Thank you - I’m afraid I don’t have anything in return,” her smile had fallen and Leon’s wavered,

“Nonsense, it’s a gift.”

Valencia was aware of Merlin’s smile and wanted to punch him in the shoulder.

“I’m grateful. Thank you, Sir Leon,” Valencia ignored the burn in her cheeks as she gave another bright smile. She turned to Arthur, “You might be interested to hear that Sir Morien has shot himself with his crossbow.”

Arthur sighed something that vaguely sounded like ‘ _clown_ ’ and Valencia chuckled as he narrowed his eyes at her.


	4. he's apollo, god of sun, art and light, and i am but a disciple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to call this 'RDR2: Housebuilding Song (Epilogue)'. Maybe its a metaphor that I'm building houses (relationships) which will be inevitably burned down (fire = magic reveals).  
> Damn, I'm so good at metaphors, it's almost as if I study a level English ((wink wink, I do) wink wink I want to dropout).  
> This chapter took long because I have 2 2,500 word essays, a 5-700 word short story and some sort of analysis on the Great Gatsby that I need to submit in place of exams because quarantine and online classes.  
> I haven't been doing them, I'm just getting stressed.

The next evening, Uther announces a feast to celebrate Morgana’s birthday.

Valencia isn’t surprised, after all, she had spent her daylight hours helping plan festivities and with Morgana, trying to find the reason why she didn’t find comfort in her company. Something about the woman was disconcerting - Morgana almost felt false, in a way Valencia couldn’t quite describe.

Come nightfall, Valencia spent her time prowling Camelot’s libraries in search for answers to her question of how to get home. It becomes routine for Valencia to stop by Gaius’ chambers to bid goodmorning and to relay her findings, typically earning a question of how she slept and a glare when she said she hadn’t.

On at least one occasion, Leon invites Valencia to go riding with him and sends Merlin in search, only to hear that she’s sleeping. He’s offended at the lie, though when he passes her on her way to the bathhouse, she looks bleary eyed and hides a yawn.

“Lady Valencia, I heard you were asleep - I had planned to discuss some ideas of yours.”

It’s mid afternoon when he stopped her, one side of her hair flat with sleep, like her words when she spoke.

“I scarcely sleep,” she said, giving what she intended to be a mood lightening smile that gave the opposite effect.

Ducking his head, Leon lowered his voice, “Are you still troubled by the bear?”

Warmth blossoms in Valencia’s chest and when she shakes her head, the action is accompanied with a small, private smile.

“I’m looking to find a way home,” she answered truthfully. “And unfortunately, there aren’t enough hours to pour over books,”

“Surely, this can’t be healthy,”

“Gaius expresses his dislike near daily.” Leon still looked worried and Valencia still felt touched. “Perhaps I could still join you for a ride?”

Leon frowned, “I’m leading a patrol to Essetir - we leave in the morning,”

“A walk through the grounds? I’m interested in hearing your thoughts.”

“And your bath?”

Valencia pulled a face as she thought, “I can meet you in the courtyard?”

“Very well, my lady.” Leon looked more puzzled than convinced.

Running ever so slightly late, Valencia had taken the time to magic a small number of forget-me-nots behind a screen in the bath house. She was hoping they were in season, and that Leon didn’t think she was being weird.

It’s not exactly like she knew about gift exchanges in the middle ages - she studied the application of magic in war, not the application of magic in friendships and gift exchanges. Valencia wonders briefly if giving flowers still held the idea of romance, pausing in the corridor as she peers down at the blue flowers in her hands. Surely, Leon wouldn’t mind? He’d given her flowers earlier - well, the day prior.

Instead of fretting, Valencia continued to the courtyard, bending her fingers and enjoying the lingering warmth of magic.

Valencia approached Leon from behind, sitting beside him and presenting her meagre bouquet with a flourish. He hadn’t been expecting her so soon and had been buried in a book of Hannibal’s military feats, subsequently startling (only slightly) as she sat.

“Forget-me-nots! Thank you, my lady.” Closing his book, Leon accepted his flowers as Valencia smothered a look of surprise,

“Ah - is that what they are? I just thought they looked nice.” She tried to ignore the warmth crawling up her chest, shoving the feeling down by asking about his book.

Merlin approached the pair at dusk to ask if they would be dining with Uther, something Valencia would’ve assumed was mischief twinkling in his eyes had she not known better.

“Forget-me-nots?”

She gave a swift punch to the arm and hissed that she hadn’t known what they were when she conjured them. They were walking through the mural passages to Uther’s chambers.

“Sir Kay was teasing him when he stopped to pick flowers - imagine his surprise when he presented them to you. Arthur seems to approve,” Merlin said with a smile.

Valencia frowned, “I don’t like him like that, though.” Merlin was giving her a squint of suspicion, “I don’t! We enjoy each other's company, that’s all,”

“If you say so.”

She didn’t mention that she had spent some of her restless nights wondering what caused her boyfriend to break off their relationship, and how much a part her magic had to play.

At dawn, Valencia watches from a window as Leon and a group of knights leave, feeling a pang of remorse that they would be missing the festivities. They were leaving the day before the first day of celebrations for Morgana’s birthday and were due back once they had finished; Valencia had to remind herself that they were accustomed to Camelot’s banquets, balls and other, and probably weren’t excited as she was.

In Gauis’ chambers, Valencia declines breakfast in favour of hearing Merlin’s visions from a crystal cave. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, considering the miasma surrounding her, they revolved around Lady Morgana.

“I can ask some of the suitors?” Valencia suggested, “Surely nobles like to gush about their ornate daggers?”

Gaius expressed his doubt and Merlin shrugged,

“You could say you don’t know what an acceptable proposal gift would be?”

“That would work.” Valencia sighed, hesitating, “I just don’t have a good feeling about this - I’ve been having weird dreams,”

Merlin and Gaius passed a look, “Howso?”

“I dreamt I killed a bear,”

“Oh, that doesn’t mean anything, my dear,” Giaus said before having a mouthful of porridge.

Valencia thought back to times sat across from her mum discussing dreams. “I know dreaming of killing a predator animal means you overcome your enemy or have good fortune,”

“Surely  _ that  _ can’t be true,” Merlin admonished.

Valencia shrugged, “My mum’s dreams usually come true - she had lions in her dreams and it turned out her sister was stealing money from the family.”

“Your mum was a seer?”

Valencia shook her head and tore her eyes from Merlin as he ate. She would grab something to eat from the kitchens later, she thought. “I don’t think so. Sometimes she gets a feeling or a weird dream but not always,”

“So like a seer,” Merlin said definitely.

Gaius stood to clean his bowl, telling Merlin that when he could he’d have to go and collect some herbs when he could. Valencia asked why Gaius didn’t just grow his herbs on the windowsill and the physician paused.

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

While Arthur trained in the grounds, Valencia followed after Merlin in search of Gaius’ requested botanicals.

“Arthur showed me his gift for Morgana,” Merlin began as they searched the forest floor. “It’s a plain dagger - not exactly fit for the king’s ward, if you ask me,”

“Did you tell Arthur?”

Merlin asked what she meant as he referred to a bookmarked botany book of Gaius’, and Valencia sighed at his lack of forethought.

“If he thinks it isn’t good enough for her, what’s stopping him buying a nicer,  _ more ornate _ dagger?”

Pulling the plant from its roots, Merlin wrinkled his nose, “Nah.”

They prowled through undergrowth, Merlin pulling entire plants from their soil until Valencia mentioned the soil being somewhat quite important. He paused to give an exacerbated look, “Oh really? And what are you doing?”

“Collecting clippings? Grow time is a little longer but it’s better than carrying all those at once; usually I just take a leaf and use magic.”

“So why am I pulling these?”

Valencia shrugged, “You do you.”

  
  


That evening, at the banquet held in Morgana’s honor, amongst nobles and dignitaries from other kingdoms, Valencia found herself sipping cognac on Morgana’s left. She was in the prime position to watch both the occupants of the hall as well as avoid the exposé of her lack of customary knowledge (and potential embarrassment on Uther’s behalf).

“I see you’re enjoying your cognac, my lady,” Arthur observed, hiding a teasing smile with a sip of his wine as Uther chuckled,

“It appears Lady Valencia only enjoys the finest of drinks,”

Morgana watched as a sword swallower, well, swallowed swords. “And that doesn’t include wines.”

“Because I have taste? You enjoy your hunting, I’ll enjoy my cognac, and we all enjoy Morgana’s company,”

“That we can agree,” Uther said, raising his glass in a private half toast before rising and giving a formal toast.

When Arthur stood to present Morgana an ornate dagger, Valencia forced a convincing beaming smile, marvelling at the craftsmanship as her tongue felt numb in her mouth.

Catching Merlin’s eye, the pair passed worried looks. As much as she didn’t want to entertain the idea, it certainly appeared that Merlin’s direct interference had changed the initial flow of the proverbial river of actions.

  
  
  
  


Five days later, Leon returns alone.

Valencia had been on her way to the training grounds with Gaius to learn how to reset a knee when they had overheard a servant mentioning Sir Leon’s lone arrival to a knight - “ _ He looked halfway to death. _ ”

Gaius and Valencia passed looks of dread and hurried to inform Arthur. 

The injured squire could almost be considered young, though Valencia guessed he would probably be old in squire years. He was mousy haired and attractive in a generic sort of way, and Valencia wondered how many people her age were still baby faced as she concluded he was probably a good few years younger than her.

“This is only going to take a moment, Pelleas - look at the bunny!”

Pelleas screamed as Gaius returned his knee to its rightful place and Valencia bit back a wince. She pushed him back into his seat when he tried to stand, bracing his knee to allow Gaius and Arthur their private talk, and passing on whatever she remembered from her school days of numerous injury complaints.

“Why must he sit with his leg up?” Sir Palamedes asks,

“ _ At least  _ four times,” Kay echoes teasingly,

“To prevent swelling.” Valencia sighed, then informed Pelleas to ice his knee and ignored the odd look given by the knights clustered. They had gathered in hopes of learning from Gaius and were pleasantly surprised to glean from Valencia.

Smiling pleasantly, Valencia gives Pelleas his crutches, “For each step you take without them, I’ll hit you.”

Sir Geraint laughed heartily, clapping the squire on his shoulder, “If you’re unlucky, with them,”

“Was that part not clear?”

Valencia’s eyes followed Gaius and Arthur’s hasty departure while the knights laughed, wondering why Gaius hadn’t been sent for and what that meant for Leon.

Valencia insisted on helping Geraint carry some of his equipment back to the armoury, jibing that he was far too old and frail. Truthfully, she was hoping to see Leon, though she knew it was a far cry despite the winded feeling when she failed to see him.

Geraint offered to teach her how to sharpen a sword and smiled at her decline at the fear of damaging the blade.

“I know you’re worried about Sir Leon - “ he gave a pointed look as Valencia opened her mouth to rebuff the statement, “We all are, but he’s survived worse. Your fear is just, my lady, but it appears he cannot be harmed. However, I think he would appreciate some more flowers.”

Valencia watched absently as Geraint talked through his actions as he sharpened the blade, giving thought to why their assumed relationship bothered her so much.

Perhaps the idea she was supposed to be grieving the end of her previous relationship. Or the fact she was going home soon. Valencia didn’t want to think about the comfort she felt in Leon’s presence - it almost soothed the storms of the growing number of days in Camelot that danced along her nerves, and made her wish she was more active during waking hours.

Geraint smiled when Valencia excused herself with a curtsey.

Slivers of sunlight warmed Valencia as she passed through mural passages, wondering if the sun liked to taunt her with bad news on pleasant days as she approached the council chambers. If she wasn’t so stressed about Leon, Valencia could almost imagine a picnic with Gwen and Morgana, though she snubbed the image out of her mind, if not to ignore the associated memories.

The doors to the council chamber were open, and Valencia paused at the sight of the late afternoon sun shining almost cartoonishly through the stained glass windows and onto the figure knelt at Uther’s throne. Yellow and red glass played on the copper in Leon’s curls and when he stood, the light streaming behind him painted all his soft, warm edges.

His curls became the center of a golden halo, and if Leon hadn’t looked cherubic before, cheeks flushed and mouth pink, the sunlight bouncing off chainmail links certainly did.

The moment almost felt private - for Valencia alone to cherish and to wonder if his lips were as sweet at his honey hued outline, or if he would feel as warm as the sunlight made him look.

Throat parched and limbs locked, Valencia was jarred out of thought at the realisation of such visceral reaction at seeing Leon alive and well. Faintly, she heard her own stubborn assurances that they were merely friends and wondered why she was such an idiot.

Leon seemed surprised to see her, giving a pleasant smile that Valencia returned with uncertainty she hoped she had hidden.

“My lady, you look a little lost,” he greeted, pausing beside her. Valencia, in a moment of blind horny panic, said she had been looking for Gaius.

“Merlin’s probably performing Arthur’s daily balancing act and I wouldn’t want to disturb him,”

“Is this about Pelleas?” Merlin asked, appearing from nowhere despite having been in Valencia’s field of view only a minute ago. “I heard you relocated his knee,”

“That was Gaius - I was merely the distraction,”

“I’m sure Pelleas was well distracted,” Leon said, excusing himself with a polite smile and a bow.

Valencia’s shoulders dropped once he passed and Merlin’s smile grew to a grin,

“What’s that look for?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Valencia fell into step with Merlin, not bothering to ask where he was going. “‘ _ I’m sure he was well distracted _ ’? _ ” _

Merlin looked almost smug as he said Leon probably meant she was attractive,

“Yeah, but why would he say it like that? And just leave? Why not just ‘ _ why, ain’t you a fine lookin’ filly’ _ .”

Of course, Valencia said this in her best cowboy accent, which was entirely period inaccurate and would probably get her burned at the stake, but at least Merlin laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the fuck is the difference between chapter notes and the chapter summary


End file.
